


Talking Nonsense not to Himself

by Jaetion



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Crack, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-11
Updated: 2011-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-27 05:17:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaetion/pseuds/Jaetion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Got sick and watched Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead, and this was probably caused by my fever, but started thinking about how Farkas and Vilkas would be perfect as the eponymous characters.  Especially while playing the Questions game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talking Nonsense not to Himself

He snaps the book closed and startles Farkas, who looks up from his sword with a frown. It’s too dull to cut more than water, but since Kodlak gave it to him, Farkas refuses to part with the thing. Which makes for extremely boring afternoons; all his brother wants to do it hoist it around, posing in mimicked battle-stances like an idiot, and then talk about it like it’s some legendary weapon instead of trash that not even Eorlund would take.

Vilkas is not jealous at all that he didn’t get one, too.

Instead he has a book, another one he's borrowed from library of the Jarl’s wizard. It’s on the daedra, not exactly a forbidden topic, but one that Kodlak has warned him to stay clear of. It’s all nonsense anyway, more riddle than anything else, and he makes himself read it just to keep from trying to heft the sword himself. Vilkas flips it open again and then tilts his head up, back to Farkas who’s returned to happily polishing the notched blade. “Want to play a game?” Vilkas asks.

“Can I choose?”

“Don’t like the one we’re playing now?”

Farkas’ expression changes from eager to confused and Vilkas feels a spiteful pleasure at it. When Farkas speaks again, his words are slow with uncertainty. “What are the rules?”

“Can’t figure them out?”

Full on bafflement now. Farkas grips the hilt of his sword tight, like he’s preparing for a battle. Vilkas leans forward in his chair and the book slides off his lap and drops to the ground. Farkas’ eyes follow it and when he looks up at Vilkas’ grin, he says scornfully, “Have you been messing with those stupid daedra again?”

“What do you care?”

“What if Kodlak finds out?”

Vilkas picks it up and dangles it open. “You want to read it?”

“No!”

“Ha - Statement! I win!” Vilkas rocks back in the chair and grips his knees as he laughs. His poor brother scowls himself into a sulk and turns his back, then attacks his sword with a whetstone. The angry scraping fills their small room for a moment before Vilkas offers a second chance, “Want to try again?”

Farkas’ dark head lifts slightly. He’s always been quick to forgive and forget, which is another thing about him that Vilkas envies. “Is it the same stupid game?” he asks.

“You know any better?”

“Are you going to tell me the rules?”

“Repetition! I win again!”

Farkas refuses to talk to him for the rest of the evening.

\---  
\---

When Kodlak returns from Riften, strapped across his wide back is a sword wrapped in linen. Vilkas and Farkas run down to the main gates of the city to meet him and he pats them hard on their heads like dogs. “Here, Vilkas,” he says kneeling down. “This is for your patience.”

The sword he unwraps is blunt, like Farkas’, but infinitely better. Vilkas lets the linen fall off and stares at the long blade, the delicately carved swirls in the cross-guard, and the dark stone in the pommel. His throat is suddenly dry, but he manages to mumble a word before it closes up completely, “Why?”

Kodlak stands up and whacks him again on the top of his head. “You’re much better at waiting than Farkas,” he says affectionately, and Vilkas forgives him for everything.

They spar long into the night until Tilma orders them to get into bed before she skins them both. They finally obey and flop down into their room, but they’re too happy to fall asleep. Vilkas jams his foot into Farkas’ back and his brother rolls over with a grin. “Told you Kodlak wouldn’t forget to get you a sword,” Farkas says. “Kodlak never forgets anything.”

Vilkas snorts. “I never said Kodlak wouldn’t remember,” he replies.

“And I told you that longswords aren’t stupid.”

“I never said longswords are stupid!”

“Did too,” Farkas says. And then he hits Vilkas with his pillow, to solidify his argument.

The battle goes on for a bit until the pillow rips again and the feathers get into the fire and they have to jump out of bed and stamp out the flames before the rug burns. Afterward Farkas stretches out across their cot and Vilkas sits on the floor, stuffing feathers back into the pillowcase. “Hey,” Farkas says at last, “about that stupid game?”

“Yeah?”

“I still don’t get it.”

“Statement,” Vilkas says and reaches under the bed to grab some dusty socks to stuff in, too. “I win.”

“But why do you win?”

“Don’t you understand yet?”

“Can’t you just explain it?” Farkas is getting very close to whining.

“Aren’t you smart enough to figure it out?” Next to his head, one of Farkas’ dangling feet stops tapping against the wood frame and Vilkas cranes his neck to see his brother’s hurt pout. He looks down at the lumpy pillow in his lap and tries to figure out how to apologize without losing the game. “What if I say I’m sorry?”

Farkas’ foot starts tapping again, which Vilkas takes as a good sign. “Are you?” Farkas asks.

“Didn’t I say I was?”

“Are you trying to be stupid on purpose?”

It occurs to Vilkas that despite Farkas’ obvious intellectual flaws, he’s doing a good job with the Questions game. He gets distracted for moment, imagining how the two of them could overwhelm Sheogorath and destroy the rest of the princes and send them back to Oblivion forever. They’d be the heroes of Skyrim. Of all of Tamriel. He shakes his head and says in his best disinterested-Skjor impression, “Are you calling me stupid?”

“What if I am?”

“Did you forget that I’m the smart one?”

“You’re the _jerk_ one.”

“Statement!” Vikas says gleefully. “I win!”

Farkas hits him with the other pillow.


End file.
